You're Not One of Those Fags Who'd Marry His Beard...

...but, as long as he kept it nice and trim, you wouldn't mind marrying a boy with a beard. Of course he'd have to clean up the bathroom sink after trimming those pesky whiskers, because, as opposed to the good kind of dirty, that particular kind of follicle filth is completely unacceptable! Speaking of scruff, after a lovely beach weekend at the Jersey Shore with nary a razor to be found, you return with a serious case of five o'clock shadow. Although this is usually a good look for you, you are slightly disturbed by the gray bits of salt that are pushing their way through your pepper! Some people think it looks distinguished. You, however, would prefer if it was extinguished. You are much to immature to look like a Daddy! But you're even lazier than you are vain, so you choose to remain in denial about your Aging Whiskers and instead meet your friends for a shot of some nicely Aged Whiskey at Niso's.

It's a gorgeous afternoon and after gorging and O.D.ing on children in Straighty McStraightville, NJ, you are definitely ready for a Gay Cocktail! Half-Share is back early from Fire Island and tells you that he'd love to join you but he's waiting to hear back about dinner plans with a boy he's been dating, so you tell Half-Share to bring his new Boy Toy along (after all, you're very curious to meet him). Rice Queen decides to join you for this impromptu Eighth Avenue Inquisition and, after ordering your first round, you all head outside with your elbows out in order to claim some serious Sidewalk Real Estate (location, location, location!) in order to watch the Chelsea Boys parading down the Avenue during their weekly stroll back from Sunday Ab(ternoon) Services at David Barton.

However, on your way outside, you wind up getting segued by some drunks who are very curious about your CBGB T-shirt. You assume they, obviously, must be from out of town as they start tapping on your chest and ask you what the letters stand for. Now, although you bought the damn shirt at Bloomingdale's, the famous club used to be right down the street from you so you really should know what the acronym stands for. But you stutter, "Country Blue Grass...?" And that's when the whole drunken group starts throwing their two clever cents in, "Cute Boy, Good Bottom!" Although you are way too sober for this invasive conversation, for some reason you engage the Drunk Boy and his Buxom Beard and you say, "Just good? Not great?" and then you give the Drunk Boy a wink as you attempt to make a quick exit. Only they don't let you go. They begin to rub your scruff and grab at your shirt as they attempt to pull it up in order to get a look at your abs(olutely off-limit belly). You kind of hate this kind of unwelcome groping (especially since you ate like a pig this weekend), so you reflexively pull your hem back down toward the floor and decisively tell the Drunk Boy, "Not cool," partly because it isn't cool, but mostly because he isn't hot. He backs off and tells you that he hates it when people touch him, too, and although you don't mean to be nasty, your intentions seem a bit debatable when you say, "Don't worry. I wasn't planning on touching you." You quickly flash your dimples and briefly consider amending your sentence by adding, Without your permission... But he's so drunk and completely not your type so you just let it go and walk outside.

You apologize for your tardiness when you finally meet your Gay Posse on the makeshift patio, and you are curious as to when Half-Share's new Boy Toy will be joining you? "He's not coming," explains Half-Share. "Apparently he made other dinner plans between our first and last text message." You are very surprised and are smelling a bit of lame play. Oops, you meant to write, game. You ask, "How long between texts?" And when Half-Share informs you, "Almost a half hour," you all collectively shake your heads and sip your Gay Cocktails in unison. You can tell Half-Share is upset when he retorts, "This is when the Scorpio in me comes out and he ain't gonna know what hit him." Scorpios don't get mad. They get even!

Although you pride yourself in not Playing by the Rules, lately, since nothing seems to be going your way, you've begun to wonder if that could be a mistake? Hell, three and a half years after breaking up with The Ex, you are still single. Lately you've begun to wonder if it is even possible for two gay men in their thirties to have a relationship? Even though everybody you meet tells you they're looking for relationships, nobody seems to act like they are. Is it really that hard? If you really like a boy, then shouldn't you be able to wait a half-hour before going ahead and making other dinner plans? And if you don't really like a boy then why the hell are you attempting to make dinner plans with him in the first place? It's all so confusing and disheartening that find yourself asking your friends, "Why does it have to be so hard to have any sort of relationship in New York?" Half-Share gives the stock answer that you've heard a hundred times before, "Too many shiny objects!" Although you know that sexy gay boys in NYC are a dime a dozen, is everybody really so A.D.D. that they have no idea when they stumble upon an extremely rare and collectible Indian Head Penny? The problem with this theory, however, is that everybody, of course, thinks of themselves as the elusive Indian Head Penny. Even you. Especially you.

Although none of you has an answer for this Gay Boy conundrum, you all are quick to recognize the value of the most rarest of finds in Manhattan: delicious and cheap Chinese food! So you pay your Niso's tab and rush over to Grand Sichuan. Although Half-Share seems to already be over his lame Boy Toy, you can't seem to let go of the conversation and are like a skipping record as you skip past Billy's Bakery on Ninth Avenue. When you shut up long enough to realize that your friends have made a pit stop to chat with someone, you can actually feel the cupcakes adhering to your gut by osmosis. You take deep chocolate breaths while feigning interest in whoever they've stopped to greet. Only you are in shock when Half-Share introduces you to the Cupcake eating a cupcake who turns out to be the Boy Toy! And he's, get this, sharing a cupcake with a much younger, very Shiny Object, who has, get this, a sexy beard. The whole charade is so obviously a date that it pains you to be introduced to the Boy Toys' Beard, mostly because you have to watch your own friend push a pained smile through his own irritated face as he shakes the Cupcake's hand. The whole thing is all so wrong.

You and Rice Queen immediately try to console Half-Share as you walk toward the restaurant, but, surprisingly, Half-Share seems more annoyed than upset. His reaction confuses you, but it can't help but make you wonder, Has this kind of lame gay boy behavior become so pervasive and acceptable in our community that it's merely perceived as annoying? And then, to add insult to injury, that's when Half-Share's phone beeps with a text from his Lame Game Playing Boy Toy, which instantly causes him to guffaw: "Dinner might be difficult this week, but we'll figure it out." Half-Share, of course, doesn't respond. But nobody makes any comment at all, mostly because you're all speechless as you watch the hottest guy walking down Ninth Avenue hand-in-hand with, get this, the The Bearded Lady. And it's at that very moment that you decide you are going on strike and not shaving until you become someone else's Beard! Anyway...